The Frailty of Genius
by CarvingApples
Summary: Johnlock! (SherlockxJohn) Rated T for language. (Sorry I'm not a great summary writer :/)
1. Chapter 1

To describe Sherlock Holmes was like describing a colour. You might say "dark" or "subdued" or "dull." You would not say "nice" or "caring" or "happy." Colours can't be like that. Neither could Sherlock Holmes. You might here tell from Mycroft Holmes that when he was a young boy, Sherlock was these things. He loved. He cared. He loved a dog named Redbeard, his parents, his brother. But when Redbeard died, Sherlock snapped. His big brother Mycroft's past advice to "never let sentiment hinder you" paid off and Sherlock Holmes forgot how to feel. They say that's why he never goes outside. Some say that he can't even feel the warmth of the sun.

John had heard the whisperings as he passed by the infamous Holmes house. About a boy named Sherlock. The horrid self-identified sociopath that hated everything and everyone. He was also said to be an addict. Maybe it was that fact that made John interested. It was why he wanted to be a doctor, right? So he could fix people. He had to. Nobody had ever fixed him. He just wanted to make sure nobody else had to feel like he had all his life. That was what took him to the yard of the creepy old Holmes House. That was what carried him to the door. It was likely just impulse that made him knock, though.

The knock came suddenly. It was a hesitant knock. Sherlock counted four, one slightly delayed. Five knocks was confident, three was polite. Four was nervous. Nervous meant not missionaries or door-to-door people. They hadn't used the knocker, but Sherlock could tell that the sound was coming from the top of the door. Not a child. He sighed. Non-business, not expected. That usually meant a bet. He set down his beaker carefully and covered his microscope. He was still wearing his lab coat when he answered the door.

For a minute John was sure that nobody was home. He was about to turn around when the doorknob clicked and the black door swung open to reveal a tall young man. The Holmes boy. He had a shock of dark hair and a pale, thin face. He was wearing a black laboratory coat, black trousers, and a plum colored shirt. He obviously didn't eat much. He frowned slightly and scanned John up and down, giving the impression that he knew everything about him. Then he spoke. His voice was much deeper that John expected it would be. "You're in university. Undergraduate medical program. You use your phone a lot. You text with your thumbs, but prefer to call." He paused and scanned the street. "Not a bet, but I can see you've heard talk about me. You have a fish, but no other pets. You're family is in a tough financial situation and you don't like coffee, and prefer copious amounts of caffeinated tea. Non-smoker. Drink occasionally. I would say 18 or 19. Oh! You have an older sister! And you've recently become single. Her choice." He broke off and looked at John hopefully. John was floored. This was impossible. He couldn't decide whether to be angry at this breach of privacy or awed because there was no way he could've gotten all that information. So he just stood there for a second and stared. Sherlock laughed to himself before adding as an after thought. "Why are you here though?" John managed to form a word somewhere in his brain. "How?"

"How?" How? Really, it seemed obvious to Sherlock. Then again, people and their stupidity never ceased to amaze him. He rolled his eyes. At least the stranger seemed impressed. There were so few who did. So he told him. "University is obvious. you're sleep deprived and you have graphite and ink stains all over your hands. You also quite obviously are relieved about something, going by your posture and the fading lines on your forehead. Exams just ended. Huge stress reliever. Medical because you have a hospital visitor student card in your pocket. Also says uni. Studying with surgeons today? Your phone is on your person, but it's in your coat pocket instead of your jeans. Jeans is easily accessible, which means texter. Coat is ready but not right there, which means frequent usage, but probably favouring calls. Your hair is also rumpled about your ears, meaning you have been on the phone a bit recently. Thumb texting is obvious from the shape your hands are curved into and the shape of your phone." He paused, waiting for the anger. But the boy was now leaning against the rail. Encouraging. Sherlock continued. "You got those shoes from your sibling, who stands differently than you. Also they're girls shoes. So, she's your sister. A girl just broke up with you. Not a long relationship, but she gave you those gloves you're wearing. It's obvious because they are different from your style. More feminine influenced than the way you dress, save your shoes of course. You're petting them a bit regretfully, but not sadly or angrily, which tells me who broke it off and how serious you were. You have fish food on your jumper sleeves. No fur. You're jumper is also cheap and old. Tea stains, but no coffee stains. You need some form of caffein, or you wouldn't be able to make it through the day. This isn't a bet because there are no snickering friends hiding around and you have nothing to verify that this happened. Maybe you just want to tell people you met the freak. You don't know the inside of the house so you aren't a friend of Mum and Dad, and Mycroft doesn't live here anymore." Sherlock cut himself off. the stranger was just standing there with his jaw moving silently. There was a long moment before he said it.

"Brilliant!" John whispered quietly. He stared at the mysterious Sherlock Holmes. "That's bloody brilliant." Sherlock stared down at John like he had never seen a human being before. "That's not what people normally say." He said quietly. John was puzzled. It was amazing. Really amazing. He'd known everything just by looking. It almost made John feel self-conscious, like this man knew everything about him. More than he did. Fortunately, however, there wasn't much to know. "What do they usually say?" John asked. Sherlock scowled. "Piss off freak. Or some variation thereupon." John was startled. Maybe he had a soft spot for those unconventional people. He would never call Sherlock a freak. Genius was closer to the truth. "Well," John told the tall man, pulling out his phone to check the time, "I think you're brilliant. My name's John Watson." Sherlock nodded. His face was back to default again. "Well John, nice to meet you. Say hello to your sister's girlfriend for me. I think they're having a tough time, am I right?" How did he do that? John nodded and then a thought occured to him. "Wait! I want your number!"

It was so sudden that Sherlock found himself shocked.

"What?" John smiled. "You're too interesting to not talk to again. You still owe me an explanation of how you know about Harriet and Clara."

Sherlock shook his head and handed his homemade business card to the boy on the steps. The young man smiled and turned to go, waving. "My name's John, by the way. John Watson." Sherlock nodded brusquely. "Sherlock Holmes."


	2. Chapter 2

Monday, 2 days later.

John was tired of the night. It wasn't the night per say, but the way his thoughts wandered. To all of his troubles. To how he was going to pay for medical school. How he was going to pay for college. Naturally, he sought a distraction.

10:28 pm

Hello Sherlock.

_10:30 _

_Who is this? _

10:30

I came to your house on saturday, you told me everything about myself.

_10:31 _

_Oh. Joe. Hello. I don't want to talk to you. _

10:31

It's John, and why not? I want to know how you did that.

_10:31 _

_The power of deduction. Now go away, I'm busy_

10:32

Okay, but first tell me about you. Got a girlfriend? Boyfriend? Cat?

_ 10:32_

_ We're not friends. This is going nowhere. Goodbye Joe. _

10:45

…It's John.

Tuesday

Sherlock woke up early to a knock at the door. He checked his watch. 9:00 am. Early. He swung his legs down from the couch and smoothed his jeans. Three knocks. Polite. He ambled to the door and tousled his hair. He had barely twisted the doorknob when he heard John's voice.

"Hi! I thought I would stop by in between classes… I have tea!" Sherlock was getting genuinely worried about John.

"John." He growled, "Have you considered that you may have a small attachment disorder, possibly obsession? It's normal to have crushes, but I do believe this has transcended to a new level." He paused and recited the standard lie. "I'm a sociopath. I can't feel sentiment."

John rolled his eyes. "It's called being kind, Sherlock. I don't like you. I'm not even gay. I'm trying to be friends. Haven't you ever heard of that?"

Sherlock sighed. Obviously attached. Obviously not as straight as he said he was. "Come in, but I don't like this. And be quiet, loud noises mess up my concentration." John came in handing Sherlock a paper cup of tea as he passed.

"You're fairly highly functioning for a sociopath." He remarked quietly.

Sherlock scowled. "High Functioning Sociopath." He flopped on the couch and clasped his hands. "Shut up," he scolded John, who was getting ready to speak.

"I'm not-"

"Shut up."

Sherlock figured that John would be around for a bit, so he made a file. Once inside his mind palace he ran down the stairs and found the library. He walked quickly through the rows of shelves and opened his file cabinet marked 'Other People.' He pulled his memories and deductions of John from his mind and put them in a manilla envelope. Filing it, he exited into reality. John was staring quizzically. "What was that?" He asked.

"I was saving you to the files in my mind palace because you seem like you aren't going anywhere."

"You're making sure you never forget me then." John laughed.

"When you put it like that I want to burn your file." Sherlock growled.

John looked outside to the springtime sun. School would be through soon. He sighed. "Let's go outside. I have a class to get to and you can walk me there." He said. Sherlock scowled but got up off of the couch and got his coat. John shook his head at the black and blue monstrosity Sherlock had donned. He was now putting on an unnecessary blue scarf. "Come along then." He said. He almost seemed excited.

...

"What do you have against me?" John asked as they walked through the streets of london to the Saint George's University campus. Sherlock shrugged a bit. "You're boring." He said in a deadpan. John pursed his lips."And I suppose you're the fucking holy fountain of excitement?" He retorted. Sherlock almost laughed. "Yes." He said, turning up his collar. John jumped forwards a bit to keep up with him. "How?"

"My brother's in the government, and he's hooked me up with a department of Scotland Yard. I solve crimes for them as a consultant."

"A consulting detective?"

"Yes I suppose you could call it that." Sherlock conceded. "Actually I like it. Hm. Anyway, I help them out sometimes. I'm very good. Dangerous lifestyle." He turned and smirked at John. "Also I'm a genius. Not my fault, I just know how to manage my life."

John rolled his eyes. "When did you become the official show-off of Pompous Town?"

Sherlock had just decided to fight that comment when a car came around the corner and roared down the street towards them going at least three times the speed limit. Sherlock saw his impending doom bearing down on him and admittedly froze, thinking. His mind roared into danger mode and he began to think of ways out of the situation with the precious time that he didn't have. John didn't. The shorter man barreled into Sherlock, knocking him to the pavement with a force that he didn't look capable of. Together they rolled and scrambled to the sidewalk just as the car shot past. "Holy fuck!" Breathed John, taking a moment to flip of the driver. Sherlock took a deep breath and sat up. He said nothing to John as he dusted off his coat and stuck a third nicotine patch onto his arm. John got up with a bit of a struggle, dusting his jeans off and examining his ripped jumper. He glanced down at his cheap watch wearily. "I have to go. Are you okay?"

"Yes." Sherlock said. John pointed to his watch and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Sherlock said. "Thank you, John. Lunch tomorrow?" John let a smile creep up his face and nodded. "Perfect."


	3. Chapter 3

Wednesday, 12:35 pm

"So," Sherlock started, "What exactly is the point of your- wait. Um, what are your hobbies, John?"

John laughed. "You're not so good at small talk you know. Let's not even try."

"Then what?"

"Talk normally." The waitress came over with two sandwiches and two cups of mint tea with cream and sugar, just like the kind John had brought over the day before. John smiled at Sherlock once she left. "Mint tea is becoming our thing, isn't it?" He teased. Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the idea. "We're not teenage girls with inside jokes." John glanced across at another table, where, in fact, there were two teenage girls glaring rather fiercely at Sherlock. John laughed to himself.

"So," Sherlock said hesitantly, "You're a lot more interesting than I thought."

"Because I saved your life while you stood in front of a cab like a useless lump?"

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think?" Sherlock bit into his sandwich and immediately set it down, visibly recoiling.

"Don't like it?" John inquired.

"No, I do, it's just I don't eat a lot. It upsets my mind."

"Your mind must be delicate."

"Of course it is," Sherlock said. "I'm a genius."

"I wish you would stop saying that." John said, rolling his eyes and taking another bite of his sandwich. "It's a bit off-putting."

"I'll make a note." Sherlock took another hesitant bite of food. John noted with satisfaction that he was drinking the tea. Mint was John's favourite.

The rest of lunch was spent mostly in silence. It was nice for both Sherlock and John, to find someone else who was alone. Someone to be alone with so that neither of them really were.

11:30 pm

The stars are out tonight…

_11:31 pm_

_What are you texting me for, John? I'm in the middle of something!_

11:31 pm

My sister is mad at me so she yelled and forced me out onto the roof… She locked the window.

_11:32 pm_

_Well._

11:32 pm

I hate texting… What about your brother?

_11:32 pm_

_I have a brother._

11:33 pm

I know. What about him?

_11:33 pm_

_He's high and mighty. Government. Annoying._

11:34 pm

Oh. Is he like you?

_11:34 pm _

_I guess so. He taught me everything. My DEAR brother. :(_

11:35 pm

… Did you just use an emoji?

Did SHERLOCK HOLMES just use an emoji? :D

You don't strike me as the emoji type…

_11:36 pm_

_I'm not. Emojis are immature. I don't know why I wrote one..._

_I'm not myself right now :P_

_NO. -SH_

11:37 pm

This is great :D

What's with the -SH ?

_11:38 pm_

_It's my attempt to come back to myself away from smiley faces. -SH_

11:39 pm

Okay… -JW

Look at the stars! -JW

_11:45 pm_

_I did. _

11:50 pm

Aww no more -SH ?

Lunch tomorrow? Or walk? Tea?

_11:55 pm_

_Mint tea. I know a nice place. Meet me at 5:30 if your classes are out by then. See you tomorrow John. Don't sleep on the roof._

11:56 pm

Are you taking me on a date? 5:30 is fine. See you there ;)

_11:57 pm_

_John, I'll leave you and your common sense to puzzle that out. I'm a sociopath. Goodnight. _

12:00 am

Goodnight Sherlock. -JW

John fumbled his phone sleepily into his pocket and stared out over to Saint Georges. Maybe he was just desperate enough to move back into the dorms there. Maybe. He stretched out on the roof of the flat. The air was cool but not cold and his jumper was warm. He curled around a strange box and fell asleep with the stars watching over him.

…

Thursday

Mycroft stopped by the Holmes house to check on his brother and parents from time to time. It was an irksome process, but at least he got to help keep Sherlock off the drugs for a while longer. He twirled his umbrella as he walked up the steps to his old home.

Sherlock opened the door before Mycroft got the satisfaction of knocking. "Brother mine." He growled at the figure in the doorway. "How is it in the world of running everything?"

"Lovely, actually. Oh do try to be pleasant. I heard you have a friend now."

"John's not really my friend. I don't make friends. I don't like people."

Mycroft smiled in that infuriating and knowing way of his. "Now, Sherlock, you don't have to keep your feeling s from me. We can't all be born sociopaths. Some have to be made. You just have to make a sociopath."

"And what if I don't want to? I'd like to be friends with John. In fact, I think we already are. Allow me my one friend, brother _dearest._"

Mycroft smirked. "One day, Sherlock, you'll be valuable. You've already solved a murder and several thefts, not to mention the drug lord. Of course, that was just because you got drugs from him."

"Get out."

"I'm afraid not. Lose the little friend."

"No!" Sherlock's voice was rising fast and Mycroft was just standing there, infuriatingly calm and collected. "Why should I?" Mycroft twirled his umbrella again and propped it against the wall. Taking two steps towards Sherlock he whispered "We can't have you getting distracted." Sherlock closed his eyes and kept his temper in check. "I like John Watson." Mycroft smiled. "No boyfriends."

"He's not my boyfriend. He's the only friend I've got and I'm sorry if I'm not a sociopath like you. I could have had friends, Mycroft. I could have had a life and been a genius." Mycroft waved his hand as if to dismiss Sherlock. "You're too valuable, brother dear." Sherlock scowled at Mycroft as he picked up his umbrella and walked out the door, shooting Sherlock a twisted backwards smile. Sometimes Sherlock wasn't sure that Mycroft was a sociopath. Despite all of this. Sometimes he thought he saw care in his brother's eyes.

…

That morning, John had woken up on the roof, his best jacket blown off him and Harry snapping pictures and stifling laughter. Now, he was struggling to stay awake during a particularly boring English lecture. He could almost hear his grad dropping as he drifted in and out of sleep. "…The function, of course, being the author's own…" Sleeeeeeeeeeeeep… "…Which accounts for most of the reason why it's such a popular literary…" …sleeeeeeeppp joooohhhhnnn sleeeeep… John was just giving in when he heard a beep on his phone. He checked it, embarrassed. Everyone was looking at him.

_5:00 pm_

_Meet me outside my house in 5 minutes if convenient. -SH_

_If inconvenient come anyway. -SH_

John scowled but texted back. Sherlock sounded as urgent as he ever could. Besides, he needed to leave this class before he fell asleep.

5:00 pm

Okay. See you.

John got up and picked up his bag. "Gotta go," he said. Ignoring the professor's mumbled protests John ran out the door and onto the green outside. It took four minutes to run all the way to Sherlocks and by the time he reached the street Sherlock lived on he was panting like a dog. Sherlock was standing on the curb, calm with his coat collar turned up and his blue scarf blowing in the breeze. John rushed up to him, asking "What is it?" breathlessly. Sherlock smiled. "Come along John."

"Where?"

"Change of plan. A case came up. I could use a medical student. We're going on an adventure."

"What?"

Sherlock smirked. "At least you'll finally have something interesting happen to you for that tumblr blog of yours."

With that Sherlock walked off purposefully down the street to hail a cab, and despite John's intentions, he couldn't help but follow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Authors Note:**  
**Obviously, I don't own these characters. Okay... So this is where I start developing plot and something else as well (Spoilers, sweetie :P) Anyway, major chapter, thanks if you are reading this, sorry I've taken a while. This one's short but important./p**

"Shut up. Your husband is dead and no amount of whining will fix that." John elbowed Sherlock's ribs. "What he means to say," he said kindly, "Is that we're sorry for your loss and we would just like you to answer a few questions." The woman before them quaked, her brown hair falling into her face. After a final racking sob she scowled at John and Sherlock. "What business is it of you? You're barely children. I don't believe you're associated with the police!" A fresh sob racked her body and she brought her sleeve up to her face. Sherlock sighed. "Yes, we've been over that. Okay? We're just starting out. Like an internship in being consultants. Now please, if you will, when was the last time you talked to your husband. Was it dinner last night?"

"Yes." The woman doubled over and then sat up again and took a shuddering breath. John hesitantly placed a hand on her shoulder and patted a few times. She started again. "It was our anniversary, and-"

"Shhhhhh! I have all I need. Come along, John. Goodbye. By the way, your husband was awful. You've driven a nasty person to end his frivolous life." With that Sherlock jumped down from the desk he was perched on and swept down the stairs. John smiled at the woman, who was now sitting looking shocked with a single tear trailing down her face. "I'm sorry." He said.

…..

"That was a horrible first case. I'm sorry." Sherlock was skipping along the sidewalk, occasionally jumping into the road and back out a few steps ahead of John. John rolled his eyes. "Well, you did put that poor lady off her rocker back there. Are you always like that?"

"Well, you know I have poor social skills. It's not my fault."

"It most certainly is your fault, Holmes." John retorted. Sherlock laughed. "If it helps, I didn't tell her that her husband was cheating on her with at least two women and three men." He said. John shook his head. "Sherlock…"

"Yes, John?"

"Thanks." John smiled and quickened his pace a bit. Sherlock took very long strides.

…..

Sherlock didn't sleep much that night. He was busy experimenting and jotting his findings in his notebook. Mother and Father had gotten left early in the morning for their trip, so the house was silent when Sherlock's phone rang. He picked it up and squinted at the blinding light of the screen. It read John Watson. Sherlock placed it back on the table. A few minutes later it rang again. Sherlock growled at it but picked it up and held it to his ear. "Hello John," he said. "You know I prefer to text. Why are you calling?" Sherlock could hear shouting through the phone. "I need a place to stay. Please." John's voice sounded rather urgent and scared. Sherlock startled a bit. John always seemed so level headed. "What's wrong?" Sherlock hissed into the phone. He was surprised at how urgent his voice sounded.

"It's Harry."

"What?"

John coughed lightly."She and Clara are going through a rough spot and I think they're breaking up. Harry's upset and on the drink and my parents found out. There." Sherlock nodded slowly and sighed. "Come on over."

…..

The scene downstairs was bad. Harry was screaming that she was an adult and she could be an alcoholic if she damn well wanted to while their alcoholic mother screamed back. John managed to sneak past and slide out the door with his bag and school things. He saw his mother look at him and ran before she could bring him back inside. He ran a bit and then walked the rest of the way to Sherlock's house. Sherlock opened the door as he walked up to it and he gratefully went inside. "Thank you Sherlock." Sherlock furrowed his brow as he closed the door. "Are you okay, John?" John smiled slightly. "Better now, thanks."

"Stop flirting, John." Sherlock laughed. As John started to protest Sherlock shushed him. "Fact," he said. "When someone as observant as me thinks you're flirting with them, you probably are." John laughed. "You're completely full of yourself, you know that? Brilliant, but self-obsessed." Sherlock smiled and took a small bow as if John was applauding. Out of the corner of his mouth he whispered "Flirting." John laughed a bit and put down his coat and bags. He managed to get to the couch before he was racked by a deep sigh. Harriet and mother were always fighting. About Harry still living at home, about her being lesbian, about her drinking, about her influence on John. Basically, anything they could find to row over they did. Sometimes it got so bad there that John slept at a friends house. And, of course, no friend better than Sherlock. Sherlock didn't know he was John's best friend. In fact, John had been startled himself. He'd only met the man on Saturday. It made some sense though. All of John's friends before were not that great of friends with him anyway. He didn't get along with most people that well. With Sherlock, he'd just sort of clicked. He watched his friend hover around him and found himself reluctant to take his eyes off of him. Sherlock was easy to look at. And he was John's friend. Even if he was a pompous prat sometimes. John's phone rang. Mother. "Shit," he muttered. Sherlock, who had lightly sat down on the couch and steepled his fingers to his face, jumped a bit and turned. "What is it?" He asked. John nodded at his phone. It was in his jacket pocket. Ringing. "Your mother." Sherlock guessed. John nodded. "Yeah."

"Let me get you some tea." Sherlock jumped up and twirled towards the kitchen. John noticed that his top button was broken off of his shirt. He stuck another nicotine patch onto his arm and picked out two cups. "John!" He called.

"Yes?"

"How do you make tea?"

….

Five minutes later Sherlock and John sat next to each other and slowly sipped mint tea. Sherlock studied John. He was staring straight forward, his brow creased as if he were trying to make out something in the distance. Sherlock smiled into his tea and slowly stood up. John put down his tea slowly and leaned back with a sigh. Sherlock watched as his eyes slowly closed. He looked smaller. Sherlock felt suddenly very protective. He gently layer John down. If John woke at all, he showed no sign of it. Then Sherlock pulled the blanket off of the top of the couch and covered his sleeping friend. Friend. That word had never been one Sherlock had in his repertoire. He had no friends. Maybe he did, though. Maybe now he had one.

**Thursday, the Next Week.**

Sherlock checked his phone. "We've got a theft." John was relieved to hear it. They'd been texting Junior Officer Lestrade and commander Beckett nonstop for about an hour. Sherlock was desperately bored, and John hated the nicotine patches, and restricted him to one. He was disapproving generally of most of Sherlocks habits. Getting high, (Which he hadn't done for months, so John had only mentioned it as a cautionary measure.) smoking, (On the grounds that it was illegal for a seventeen year old to smoke and it caused cancer) and deducing people to their faces. (Though John enjoyed it when Sherlock told him what he deduced as long as the victim couldn't hear.) So, basically, it was down to solving cases when John was around, which was pretty much all the time that he wasn't asleep or in class. And here was a case.

When they got to the site they saw it was a jewelry store. Classic. But different. Whoever had robbed it had cut a hole in the glass and climbed through that. It was a rather jagged hole, not too well done. John ran his hand along it gently. Sherlock, meanwhile, immediately got to work. The taller man kept silent as he worked, but John could nearly see his brain turning. Then John saw it. "Uh, Sherlock?"

"Not now John." Sherlock warned.

"Sherlock!"

"Shh."

"Sherlock get everyone out!" John screamed. He pulled down hard on the fire alarm and started pushing officers away. Sherlock hadn't budged. He was determined to finish his investigation. John grabbed him by the hand and ran. Sherlock, he realised, was gripping his hand. He'd noticed. They rushed across the street, feet pounding on the uneven cement, and crowded into the pub across the way. By now the whole place was silent. John slammed the door as Sherlock came in and whirled him around. Almost the instant they turned around, the little wire John had seen fed a signal to that little blue box and the store exploded. And there was fire and noise and then deafening, ear splitting silence. Sherlock sat down and tried to let go of Johns hand. Some part of him didn't want to, though. Some part of him said that he was so close to losing his only friend. If he let go, John might slip away. Slowly, the silence was drowned out by sound Sirens wailed and people talked excitedly. Helicopters whirred above. Sherlock saw that it was definitely time to get out. He forced his hand out of John's and whispered into his ear. "Let's get out of here." They slipped out slowly and quietly. Nobody noticed in all of the commotion. Once they had pushed past the forming crowds, they made their way to Sherlock's house. All the way there, Sherlock mumbled angrily about all the evidence. "All of it, gone. I barely had the time to get a proper first sweep of the window in."

"I'm sure that was the point." John said quietly. "Destroying the evidence." Sherlock nodded slowly. His brain was on overdrive. When they stepped up to the door of his house he noticed Mycroft's umbrella. He turned to John. "You are about to meet my brother. Don't engage." John smiled slightly, whispering "Finally." Mycroft was sipping tea on the couch, reading a newspaper.

"Mycroft. Don't you have a bomb emergency on your hands?" Sherlock said icily.

"Oh, you've forgotten your manners again, little brother. I do have one, and that's why I'm here. You were involved, were you not?" Mycroft replied cordially. "Is this John? How nice to finally meet you John." John nodded at Mycroft. He'd heard from Sherlock what his brother was really like, though it was hard to see. Sherlock was certainly biased.

"John was just going." Sherlock said quickly. John nodded and glared quickly at Sherlock before stalking out of the door.

…

_8:47 pm_

_John. _

8:49 pm

What.

_8:50 pm_

_I'm sorry, John. Mycroft doesn't want us to be friends. He'll try and find your weakness. I had to get you away from him._

8:50 pm

Okay. Why not?

_8:52 pm_

_He thinks I'm too valuable. Anyway, are you okay?_

8:52 pm

A bit shaken, but yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about your evidence.

_8:53 pm_

_It's okay. I've got enough. I have the address of the thief._

8:54 pm

That's great! :) How?!

_8:55 pm_

_She left a note on my doorstep. We're looking for a Ms. Chelsea R._

8:56 pm

You know her name too?

_9:00 pm_

_Yes. Obviously._

9:01 pm

… Sherlock?

_9:02 pm _

_Yes, John?_

_9:10 pm_

_John?_

9:12 pm

Thank you for not getting blown up.

_9:13 pm_

_You too, John._

9:14 pm

Goodnight, Sherlock.

_9:15 pm_

_Goodnight._

John stared at his phone. For some reason, he kept reading Sherlock's texts again and again. When he thought of the mans pale fingers tapping at the keyboard, his face concentrating on the glowing screen, something shifted. John felt a bit queasy. A bit excited. He whispered to himself. "I think I like Sherlock Holmes," the words sending a shiver down his back. no. He couldn't. That was impossible. "I'm not even gay." He whispered to the bright phone screen. Sherlock was just a friend. A very best friend. John shook his head and tried to imagine going on a date with Sherlock. He didn't recoil or feel uncomfortable, but it wasn't the most exciting possibility. "Just friends," he assured himself as his screen went black.


	5. Chapter 5

**Authors Note: This chapter is ridiculously short, I know, but I wanted to end it on a bit of a cliffhanger… Anyway, this one is mostly plot about Chelsea R. Please review if you feel like it also, it is a _huge_**  
**motivator for me... Thanks! 3**

John walked slowly out of the University building and into the blinding sunlight. He had just started towards Sherlock's house when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Sherlock. John whirled around. "Hi" he said. Did he sound too eager to greet? Did Sherlock think he was an idiot? John's mind raced through the possibilities like never before, stopping briefly to instruct his heart and lungs to shut the hell up.

"Hello, John." Sherlock said. "Anything interesting happen today?" John looked up at his friend. He'd said his name. John could've smacked himself as soon as the thought passed through his mind. God, sometimes he hated himself for his idiotic thoughts.

"Apart from my English Lit teacher bribing us with biscuits? Nothing much." John replied.

"Were they good biscuits?"

"No." For some reason, Sherlock seemed amused by this.

"Well, my friend, we have a visit to pay to a Chelsea R, don't you think?" John nodded and grinned. "The game," Sherlock said, "is on!" With that statement Sherlock launched himself off into the crowd. John pushed the word 'Graceful' out of his mind and ran after the swift, graceful figure.

…

Chelsea R. was world class, or so she liked to think. She had a habit of passing as an amateur until the big reveal. She preferred to work privately, keying her explosions just right so that their traces disappeared along with their targets. She had invited the Watson and Holmes boys because they had been quite in the middle of her most public show yet. And anyway, she was connected to Holmes in a few ways… he just didn't know yet. And the robbery would have gone flawlessly without them. She hadn't been in the market for jewelry, though it was a nice side effect. She'd done it to strike fear. She'd prepared it to make an entrance for her grand heist. To up the body count and take out Scotland yard unit by unit until she was ready. And something had gone wrong. Someone had ruined everything. And she wanted something from them. She either wanted them on her team or removed. And she always got what she wanted. Just ask Mycroft Holmes. Or don't. He'd never tell you anyway. She's the most dangerous and the biggest secret of his life. And now Chelsea Roset was putting the kettle on. She was expecting visitors, after all.

Sherlock was perfect. At least to John. He especially liked his eyes. And the way he looked back as he walked to the address of Ms. Chelsea R. The way he looked back at John was spectacular. And calculating.

Something was up with John. That much, Sherlock knew. The shorter man had his hair carefully tousled and was wearing a nicer outfit then usual. He had a faraway look in his eyes as well. Sherlock fell back slightly to observe Johns hands. They were fidgety. Date tonight maybe? Sherlock found himself becoming slightly upset at the prospect. Maybe he was just afraid of losing his first and only friend. His friend who already couldn't possibly care more than Sherlock. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows and matched paces with John, who became even more visibly nervous. Maybe he had bad news? Maybe meeting the thief was scaring him? Sherlock ran through the possibilities, eliminating one after another until only a handful remained.

Sherlock and John walked silently up to the cherry red door attached to the small flat belonging to their thief. Before they could ring the bell, they heard a shout from inside. "Come in. It's unlocked."

Sherlock pushed open the door and the two stepped cautiously inside. They were in a living room complete with an old green couch and a desk full of laptops. There was also a small coffee table set with tea and biscuits. On the couch lounged a girl of no more than sixteen, with dark brown hair cut shoulder length. She was wearing black jeans and a black jumper. At first John thought she must be a hostage. She couldn't be their thief and explosives technician. But then she spoke. "My name is Chelsea Roset." The door slammed closed behind them and John started. Sherlock remained completely calm as the girl turned around. Her face was remarkably like Sherlock's. They could have been siblings. "But you can call me Chelsea Holmes if you prefer, brother dearest."


	6. Chapter 6

**Authors Note: Oh goodness, this is getting a bit out of hand... Don't worry, I have a plan to get it all back on track, including the actual Johnlock aspect of it all... In all, that whole thing should take 4-6 more chapters... I am going to try and get it all done in about ten days or so, but I am SUPER busy with life and stuff, so that may not happen. Anyway, I'm sorry if this chapter is confusing, I tried to make it less confusing than it was originally. Anyway, thanks for reading, please review if you can! (If you are wondering how helpful your reviews are, I posted chapter 5 I think yesterday or Monday and got this chapter done and posted since then because of your reviews! Thanks!) :), CarvingApples**

John stared. First, he stared at the girl. Then, he stared at Sherlock. Chelsea was smiling, a triumphant smile. John really could see Sherlock in her. If you imagined Sherlock as a girl, there she was. And she was so young. As she stood up, John could see her more fully. Her hair was a bit wavy, falling neatly around her shoulders. Her eyes were like Sherlocks, clear blue glass that seemed to pierce your soul. She was sort of tall for her apparent age and she was wearing Black converse and fingerless gloves as well as the rest of her dark ensemble. This all made her face stand out. She was as pale as sherlock, with an almost frosty look about her. She and Sherlock shared many things. However, she did have some characteristics of her own. She stepped towards Sherlock, wearing the same slight smile the boy himself sometimes sported, and began to circle him, weaving between her brother and John with an appraising look on her face. Finally she sat back down on the couch, seeming satisfied. John barely breathed.

…..

Sherlock entered his mind palace abruptly, as if his brain was eagerly pulling him away. His feet carried him to the stairs, which he took two at a time, bounding towards his library. He wasted no timefinding the files labeled "The Roset Experiments." And sorted through until he found the report labeled "Holmes" He read through it again. It had been a fascination of his once, when he first found it in Mycroft's safe and copied it into his mind palace. It read just as he remembered:

**This document is the secure and confidential hard copy of a top security report belonging to the Roset Initiative.* If you are not authorized, to read this document is considered a federal crime classified as treason and you will be sentenced according to the current laws of the country and government. **

**Trial Code: CH3LS34****Parentage: Lydia Violet Holmes **

****** Scott Ryan Holmes**

**Parents Relationship: Married**

**Other Children: Mycroft Lyde Nathan Holmes - 11 years - IQ 160**

** William Sherlock Scott Holmes - 4 years - IQ 162**

**Knowledge of Parents: None **

** Clearance Level of relations: -**

**Method: Test tube surrogate + Serum A3**

** Surrogate Mother: Chloe Rose Ridian (Clearance 5)**

**Name: CH3LS34 "Chelsea Roset (Holmes)" **

**Birth weight: N/A**

**Health: N/A**

**Additional: Deceased at 4 hours old - ****Confirmed:** **Alfred Raine**

**Status: FAILED **

**Experiment Team: R-5**

**Science and Genealogy: Karan Habar ( Clearance MAX) [D]**

**Overseer: Alfred Raine (Clearance MAX) **

**Assistant: Katya Freid (Clearance 8) [D]****  
**

**_*Roset Initiative objective: To create the next generation of workers for SSSUK. Roset is a branch of _****_S_****_ensitive _****_S_****_ecret _****_S_****_ervices _****_UK_****_ (SSSUK) and is the _****_R_****_aising _****_O_****_f _****_S_****_SSUK _****_E_****_mployee _****_T_****_rials. (ROSET)_**

**Released to Mycroft Holmes (Clearance 6) in 2008 by Alfred Raine**

Sherlock never knew exactly what it meant, but it seemed like there had been an experiment by an initiative called Roset involving his family and a birth of some sort… His sister? But the baby or subject had died. The overseer had confirmed it. Not the scientist, though, which had always bugged Sherlock. Now, this girl was claiming to be Chelsea Roset. She showed signs of sharing genetic characteristics with Sherlock. Could she be his sister? Sherlock stowed the file and returned to the outside world. There was the girl, Chelsea, sitting there in front of him perched on the arm of the couch. She looked expectant. Sherlock scanned her. She was surprisingly hard to read, but he managed. He had to get the upper hand somehow. "So?" She asked. Annoying.

"You live alone but with frequent visitors, probably the ones who just slammed the door behind us." Sherlock began. "You have a habit of biting your nails when you are anxious, which appears to be quite a lot, which means possibly a disorder, Generalized anxiety or a panic disorder of some type. You have had a constant father figure in your life for a while who has recently died, leaving you alone in this flat." Sherlock took a breath. The girl looked unfazed. "You are obviously a criminal, though what's more you are a genius. You have one friend, and that would be the one in the picture with you, I presume?" The girl nodded.

"My parter in my training, Jim. James Moriarty, if you want to hunt him down. He-"

"Abandoned you." Sherlock finished. That shut her up for a second. "You are impersonating my dead experiment sister that I never even knew for sure was real, from the Roset Initiative… Or you are her, which seems more likely considering our resemblance and similar intellects. Bt then the question would be, logically, who faked your death? And the one logical answer would be Alfred Raine, the overseer of your trial. He was the one who handled the experiment and marked you as deceased. From the D's next to his associates, I can guess that they are actually deceased, likely by murder, the culprit being Raine himself…" Chelsea raised her hand to her face and started to bite at a nail before thinking better of it and dropping it limply to her knee. "Which means," Sherlock continued "that he is dead, being your trainer and deceased father figure. All black in mourning for a murderer." Sherlock turned to John, who looked like he was trying to make sense of all of it.

"So," John said hesitantly, "she's your sister that nobody knew about through a crazy experiment that was super secret and some guy involved faked her death and then killed the witnesses and recently died and her other evil in training kid left her and now she's blowing shit up?"

"Elegantly put," Sherlock sighed, "but yes, that's basically it. Oh, and she has us locked in her flat." John stared at Sherlock intently with an odd look about him.

"Are we in danger?" John asked flatly.

"Only if you rebel against your new awesome 15-year-old overlord." Sherlock and John turned as Chelsea spoke. "Otherwise you'll be fine. Anyway, nice deductions. Don't you think so, John? Oh, of course. You always do, don't you?" John looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Sherlock himself looked slightly confused. Chelsea regarded them, satisfied. "Long story short, Sherly, I'm you-point-two. Roset saw that your parents had made two geniuses already, so they wanted one, naturally, for themselves. They did a lot of these experiments. I was the most promising and highest level. I was going to be trained as the head of SSSUK, meaning I would have been just about the most powerful person in Britain, if not the world. I was engineered to be like you and Mycroft, but far better. But I died. Or so the record says. No, Alfred took me. He raised me to be for the purpose of eradicating a great evil." She smirked. "The SSSUK, that is. Evil as possible. God, if only you knew, big brother." She sighed violently and laughed, flopping back onto the couch. "Of course, I have to look after my own interests first, don't I? And those include stealing jewelry, racking up a fortune, and blowing up the evidence. I don't know if I ever will get around to the SSSUK. That would be a bit heroic for a villain. I'm too classy." Chelsea laughed.

"You aren't better than Mycroft and I." Sherlock scowled, seeming a bit hurt.

"Oh, brother, brother, brother. The highest IQ ever recorded? Most say 228. But it's hard, because the test is designed for the average mind and stretches to the realms of genius. Your last professional IQ was estimated at 170, if I'm correct. Quite improved. Mine is estimated circa 235 by the last professional I saw. Of course, IQ is fluid. Anyway, don't worry, it's very confidential. Just between me and a dead man." She shifted on the couch and smirked at Sherlock, then reached over to the table. On it was sitting a jar of coins and an empty bowl. She poured some pennies into the bowl and some on the floor. "How many left in the jar, John?" She asked.

John cleared his throat. "Uh, I don't know. 450?"

"Way less," Sherlock said, shaking his head. "About 280."

"253 in the jar, 89 on the floor and 34 in the bowl, making 376 pennies total. Count if you like."

Sherlock went forward and snatched the bowl. John watched silently as the boy sorted them into groups of some sort and scanned them over. "Yes," he said, "I see." He proceeded to count those in the jar in the same manner as John organized his brain. Sherlock's sister. Born in an experiment. Supposed to be raised to be the head of a secret organization. Taken and marked as dead. Raised to fight the secret organization. Crazy genius because of her parentage and a special science thingy. Turned to a life of crime to live. Blew up the jewelry store. Sherlock's sister. Sherlocks bloody sister!

"Okay there, John?" The voice belonged to Chelsea. John found himself nodding. He couldn't believe that he was talking to one of the smartest people in the world, and she was a fifteen-year-old girl.

"Yeah."

"Don't address her, John." Sherlock said calmly, not looking up from his counting. He'd moved on to the pennies on the floor. "She's holding us captive. Never give your captor information. Despite how it may look, we are not free to go."

"Ahhh," came Chelsea's voice. "Now he's catching on. Of course, no need to bother with the hush-hush anymore. I can read you like a book. Humans are made of patterns. In fact, everything is, by my way of seeing it. And you two have some about you that are quite intricate." She began to hum a slight lilting tune of a cheerful nature and sunk back into her couch. At about the same time Sherlock finished counting and stood up. "Yes." He said. "I see you are a good estimator. There are only 366 pennies total. You miscounted one in the bowl." Chelsea smiled.

"Oh did I now?" She asked, flipping another penny onto the floor. "Maybe you just didn't count the one in my hand. Silly you. Now let's go, John, you first." She jumped up and walked into the other room, motioning for John to follow.


	7. Chapter 7

**Authors Note: Hi, I am FINALLY posting this (Short) chapter... I've been really busy wit exams and studying. I would like to answer a few reviews while I'm doing this... **

**BlindViolinist: Thank you for your tips :3 I actually just fixed that inconsistency, so thanks for letting me know! As for John, I actually have changed chapter four a bit because I wanted to take your suggestion into account, so you should skim it again to put this chapter into context. Oh, Johns life will be addressed in the upcoming chapters more, as the previous chapters have been focused on Sherlock and John. Now I am branching out into their separate storylines for a while.**  
**Jaycel33, Madisonlevine, Sydy, Sue, The Ghostly Horse, Wing of Darkness et al, thank you so much for your encouragement!**

John had no intention of following Chelsea until he felt something sharp against his back. He could hear Sherlock breathing quietly as he watched as John was escorted into the room by one of Chelsea's helpers. He glanced back to see a woman of about 20 pressing a knife blade against his back. She pushed him into the room and shut the door. Now John was alone with the sociopathic teenage genius. Yay. As if reading his thoughts, Chelsea spoke up.

"He's not really a sociopath, you know. He's just special." She said this in a mocking tone. "Don't you think so, pining John?"

"I'm not pining" John protested. "What are you talking about?"

"A little sapling of a crush. That it is for the time being, Johnny. But soon I do believe it will blossom into a tall pine, and then a veritable forest. With my help. I do, of course, ship it." She laughed and flopped back onto her bed.

"Ship?" John asked. Chelsea nodded.

"Like relationship. Get it?"

"Yes. Did you make it up?" Chelsea laughed again, shaking her head.

"No, of course not. Anyway, I love playing games. One of my favorite being god. And since I'm so benevolent, I will help you and my brother to live a long and happy life. As long as you help me."

"I don't have a crush on him!" John said. "But I would like to know the catch."

"You help me escape while Sherls helps me take out the SSSUK. I must honor my dear guardians wishes."

"How would I help you?"

"I'll tell you, John. Nothing's in your control anymore. End game is simple. I get to leave the country on good terms and feel good because I took down a huge web of spying and killing, and you get your Sherly. Agreed?"

"Do I have a choice?" John asked. "And please, don't manipulate Sherlock into liking me." Chelsea laughed.

"Of course not." She said.

"Which?"

"Both." She glanced at the door. "Time's up, love. You won't be seeing Sherly for a little while. Sorry about that one. Don't worry, he'll be head over heels in a few weeks. You'll see him when we get this sorted. See you, dear!" She tossed her hair and hopped up, motioning for John to follow her out of the door. "Now, John, goodbye." John stepped out of the flat and into the afternoon sunlight. He stared back at the door, which now seemed like the portal into some other world. Shaking his head, John started walking home. He wondered again about Sherlock. Chelsea was a genius. It was hard to deny her theories. John let Sherlock enter his brain. There they were, sipping mint tea on Sherlocks couch. Sherlock was smiling at John... John shook his head. This was ridiculous. But there was something pushing in from the back of his mind. A little voice was whispering that maybe, just maybe, he liked Sherlock Holmes.

…..

"Your turn Sherly!" Piped Chelsea. She disappeared into the small room. Sherlock followed, feeling just a tiny bit strange. The whole thing was too strange. And now John had left. He followed Chelsea into the room and found her standing on her bed with her fingers pressed against the ceiling. "Hey Sherly!" She called.

"My name is Sherlock."

"Sherly suits you." Chelsea said, dropping onto the bed. Sherlock watched her intently. She gave off a confident air but her chewed up fingers told a different story. She obviously had some plan.

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked. It was better just to ascertain the purpose than to participate in Chelsea's mind game conversation.

"You. I want you to work with me and Mycroft to take down the SSUK. It's a four person job, but I'm easily worth two, so don't worry. You and your brother will stay here for a week or so. Meanwhile, your boyfriend out there will be helping arrange my flight to and accommodations in Sweden. I learned Swedish and Russian the other day, but I quite prefer Sweden, so that's my first choice."

"Why would I help you?" Sherlock asked.

"You and boyfriend and brother have no choice, I'm afraid."

"Or?"

"You watch boyfriend die and then spend the rest of your short existence breaking." She was surprisingly terrifying standing over him and hissing this. She was obviously deadly serious. Sherlock filed his fear away and looked into his little sister's eyes.

"He's not my boyfriend." Chelsea said nothing but raised an eyebrow and opened a laptop that was sitting on her nightstand. There was an image which was was displaying a flat. No, a video. It was Johns flat, he was sure.

"You keep an eye on Johnny while I get Mycroft." Chelsea jumped down from her bed and swept out of the room, closing the door behind her. Sherlock was alone. He stared at the screen. In the top corner, it read **Locked on to mobile device of: JHW**. Sherlock touched the arrow keys. Much to his surprise, the camera responded. He zoomed in on Johns door. He wasn't entirely sure when he fell asleep, only that John was definitely in his dream, as well as his flat.


End file.
